Tinder is the Night
by LayAtHomeMom
Summary: With thousands of potential mates at your fingertips, finding a connection is just a swipe away. Sometimes you have to left swipe a lot of Mr. Wrongs to swipe Mr. Right.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating: M  
**  
 **Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight - I just make Tinder profiles for them.**

 **Big love and thanks to my Tinder Roni's - Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading.**  
 **And to my 2 Legit 2 Quit beta, M.C Grammar AKA Carrie ZM. All right stop, grammar time!**

 **And to my sister D - thanks for consistently (and unknowingly) providing me with material.**

* * *

"Bella?" Rose shouts from the front door of our apartment. "You here?"

"In the kitchen." I wind the crank of the wine opener until the cork gives with a satisfying pop.

"What's up?" she asks, eyeing the wine bottle while her boyfriend of two months, Emmett, trails in behind her. "Wine o'clock or just a rough day?"

I toss the light pink, shimmery, square envelope across the counter. "Read it and weep."

She carefully pulls the wedding invitation from the envelope and her eyes widen when she sees the name. "Shut up! He's getting married?"

"Evidently." I pour myself a glass of pinot and propose a toast. "To happily ever after."

"Are they for real with this?"

I laugh. "Which part?"

"Pretty much all of it, but this part right here especially," she says, pointing to the elegant script before mockingly reading it aloud. " _Just like a page out of a fairy tale, the storybook romance comes true_." Looking up, she shakes her head at me and slaps the invite back on the counter. "Like – what even?"

"Right? They've been together all of five minutes." _Five minutes. Eight months. Same difference._

Emmett looks between us, confused, holding up the invite. "Wait, who are Ben and Angela?"

Pulling her bottom lip through her teeth, Rose answers tentatively. "Ben is Bella's old friend and sort of ex."

"Sort of ex?" he asks raising a brow. "How does that work?"

Swallowing my wine, I wave my glass in his direction. "Very astute question, Emmett. We were good friends in college—"

Rose cuts me off. "But there was always that 'are they or aren't they' thing going on with them."

"So you were more like 'friends with benefits?'"

"You could say that."

"Ouch." Emmett winces. "Did you know he was getting married?"

I shake my head. "No, but it's been a while since we've chatted."

"I ran into them a few months back," Rose confesses, looking down at her hands.

"You did?" She nods once before meeting my gaze. "Well, what's she like? Is she pretty?"

Rose shrugs and plops down on the barstool. "I don't know, she's all right I guess - tall, brunette with glasses. Kinda looked like Khloe Kardashian, I think—"

Holding my hand out, I stop her mid-sentence. "Okay, wait. Khloe Kardashian as in cool chick with curves in all the right places or—"

"Or Khloe Kardashian," Emmett interrupts. "The Adam's apple says 'dude', but the tits and ass say 'lady.'"

I give him an enthusiastic thumbs up while his girlfriend smacks his bicep. "I like this guy."

Rose taps her finger on one of the inserts. "They have a wedding website if you want to see her."

 _And cue the eye roll_. "Of course they do."

"Let me pull it up," Rose says, pulling her phone from her back pocket. "Em, read me their web address."

"It's www." He pauses, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing a little quieter. "Www dot Ben loves Ang dot com."

"Aaaaannd barf."

"Okay, here we go." Rose swings the screen around so we can all see the collage of candid engagement pictures of the happy couple. There's a link on each picture, making it easy to find information about accommodations, venues, and their love story.

Emmett scoffs, flicking the phone with his finger. "This guy looks like a tool."

Snapping my fingers, I point to him, but look at Rose. "I'm telling you, girl. This one's a keeper."

Rose blushes, smiling while Emmett continues ripping on Ben. "Seriously though, he's dressed like a JCPenney Father's Day ad."

"What's wrong with how he's dressed?" Rose asks, zooming in on the plaid, short-sleeve button down shirt with pleated khakis ensemble.

"Are you kidding me? No self-respecting man would ever dress himself like that willingly. That's an Easter Sunday outfit that your mom makes you wear to coordinate with your little sister."

"Whatever Tim Gunn," Rose deadpans, waving a dismissive hand at him before looking at me solemnly, her finger hovering over the link to _Our Love Story_. "Do you want to hear it? I'll read it to you if you want."

"Nope. I don't need a play-by-play. Just give me the highlights."

Emmett makes small talk while she reads. I notice her rolling her eyes and making a gagging motion every now and again. When she places the phone on the counter, her expression is unreadable.

"Well?"

"I don't know, it's just a bunch of cheesy Hallmark, our lives are complete, love at first sight nonsense."

I kind of want to hurl, even though I haven't thought of Ben romantically in ages. "They're one of those couples, huh?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans forward, propping her weight on her elbows. "But get this… the happy couple met on _Tinder_."

"Tinder? As in the dating app?"

Rose tilts her head back and forth. "Dating app, hook-up app… whatever."

Emmett grabs the bottle of wine and tips it in my direction. "Are you thinking about going to the wedding?"

"I almost feel like I have to. We've been friends for years. Way longer than we hooked up. And it's not like I've been pining for him or anything." I empty the last bit of my wine. "And who knows if she's even aware how friendly Ben and I were back in the day. Like, I'm really not interested in going to a wedding where I'm going to get mean-mugged by the bridal party."

"Good point," Emmett says, refilling my glass.

"He wouldn't do that though." I shrug. "Guess I need to find a date."

"Maybe I can set you up with one of my old frat buddies."

"Bad plan, dude. Right now you're aces in my book, so let's keep this good thing going. I'd hate to have to hold it against you if your friend turns out to be a douche."

"Yeah, most of them are douches. Maybe _you_ should try Tinder."

"That's it!" Rose smacks her hand on the counter, a huge grin spreading across her face. "You need a fella, Tinderbella!"

They exchange a high five, then Emmett starts clapping and stomping, singing his remix of that Ke$ha song. "It's going down. I'm yelling Tindeeerrr!"

"Come on, let's do it!" Rose pulls excitedly on my arm. "Let's make you a profile."

I shake my head knowing that this is going to happen, even if it's the worst idea ever. "Fine. Sign me up."

* * *

"Okay," Rose says without looking up from the screen. "It looks like we need three photos, but the first one has to be _the_ best because it'll be your profile pic."

"So should I do the standard bathroom mirror selfie?"

"Gross. No, I'll take it."

For the next fifteen minutes she takes pictures of me, barking orders as she goes. _Hair up. Hair down. Smile bigger. Stare into the distance. Stop looking so constipated_. The only thing that makes it bearable is that Emmett's behind her, randomly clawing the air and shouting Zoolander quotes at me.

"Head down and chin out, Bella." I hear the click and watch her check it. "What do you think?"

"Uh no, I look like someone stuck a tire pump in my mouth. You're taking it from too close and you need to get higher."

She looks puzzled. "Higher?"

"Yeah, higher. Get on top of the table."

"No way."

"Fine, get on Emmett's shoulders."

Twenty minutes and 157 pictures later, we finally get the shot. Rose makes me pick a group shot to use as well because she thinks it'll make me appear fun and outgoing. She's marginally upset when I choose one where she has a slight double chin, but thankfully doesn't give me too much shit since I look great in the picture. For the last photo, we go with a snapshot of me on a beach in front a sunset. Apparently it gives off the girl next door vibe, and not in the banging Hugh Hefner way, which is good, I guess.

"Finally." She stands and stretches before rubbing her hands together. "Let's polish these up and get your profile going." Rose moves to her laptop to edit, crop, layer, and add at least fifteen filters to each shot. "How do these look?"

"Perfect." _And they really do._ "Seriously Rose, you're like the Annie Leibovitz of Tinder profile pics."

"Okay so your Bio…" she trails off, sounding unsure.

"How about, ' _I'm kind of a big deal_?'" Emmett winks, sliding my glass in front of me.

I snort. "Modest. I like it," I say sarcastically, but Rose types it anyway.

"And what about your interests?"

"Just make me sound effortlessly cool and fabulous."

"Gotcha." She speaks as she types. "Pharmaceutical rep, fluent in English, Español, movie quotes and real talk."

Emmett shakes his head. "Ay yi yi muchacho."

I raise my glass to her. "Muy bien."

"Now as far as your criteria, you're interested in males age 25-30?"

"You should probably crank that up to about 35, chief. I like to better my odds."

"All right. Looking for eligible bachelors within 5 miles… and go." She posts the profile and I feel shockingly okay with it.

"Now to find Mr. Right Swipe," I say, wiggling my fingers as potential mates fill the screen. "What about this guy? Jacob B. Tagline: CrossFitter/Bad Ass MC."

Rose scoots in to get a better look. "Eww, no, he's wearing sunglasses. It's like he's hiding something."

"What? Like a lazy eye?"

"No like a wife or girlfriend."

I left swipe his picture and I feel like Jeff Probst extinguishing a torch on Survivor.

 _The tribe has spoken._

By the fifth profile, things are looking a bit bleak. "There's no way this guy is thirty-five." I left swipe the screen on a geriatric looking man named Aro. "Sayonara, Benjamin Button." Thankfully, the next profile has potential. "Well, hello there… how about James? Tagline: Volunteer firefighter, looking for some hot stuff."

He's a cutie, all blue-eyed and blond-haired. He's shirtless in all of his pictures except for one where he's wearing a tank top that says ' _I mustache you to blow me_.'

"Looks like a dirtbag." Emmett gives him a thumbs down.

"Seriously Bella?" Rose looks appalled. "It's like you want your vagina to smell like shame."

Forty-two left swipes, six right swipes and two glasses of wine later; I toss the phone into Rose's lap.

"I can't anymore." Grabbing my wrist, I slump back into the couch cushions. "I've left swiped so many times; I think I have Carpal Tinder Syndrome."

"Wait, wait, wait." She slaps my thigh a couple of times. "This guy looks normal. His name is Edward, age twenty-seven."

I rub my temples and close my eyes. "Tagline?"

"Six-foot-three, not a serial killer, and willing to lie to your friends about how we met."

"He sounds kinda perfect. Let me see him."

I'm pleasantly surprised at the green-eyed, crazy-haired hottie staring back at me. He's all-around gorgeous, but man, his smile is something else.

Rose and I exchange a look before saying in unison, "Right swipe."

* * *

The next morning, I wake up to four Tinder messages. The first three consist of cheesy pick-up lines and thankfully only two are accompanied by a full on dick pic. I smile when I reach the last one from the green-eyed, non-serial killer.

 _E: Your tagline made me laugh – figured I should introduce myself. I'm Edward._

I click on his profile wanting to take a closer look. _Twenty-seven year-old consultant, Chicago born and bred, Chipotle and craft beer enthusiast._

Now that my mind is no longer clouded by wine and clever Ke$ha hooks, I'm not sure that this was such a good idea anymore. But then I stalk his profile pictures again and he's just too cute to blow off without an explanation, so I message him back.

 _B: I'm glad you got a kick out of that, although I'm kinda not feeling like a big deal this morning. Apparently copious amounts of red wine give you both a hangover and the urge to create a Tinder profile._

 _E: Ahh, Tinder remorse. I completely understand. I had to have a few beers to get the nerve to make one too. I never do this kind of thing._

 _B: Isn't that supposed to be my line?_

 _E: LOL. So, you're rethinking the Tinder thing?_

I look at the clock and see it's just after 8:00 AM.

 _B: I don't know. It's still early and I'm not sure I should make decisions without first consulting my Keurig._

 _E: Probably a good call. I'll let you get to it then. Have a great day._

 _B: Thanks, you too._

* * *

Two Excedrin, a shower, and another perusal of Edward's profile later, I find that my roommate used the last K-cup which means I have to hightail it to Starbucks, a solid five blocks away. After sending Rose a scathing text, I notice the RSVP postcard sitting on the counter.

I grab it and stuff it in my purse only to pull it out about a block later. Tapping the corner of the card against my lips, I silently debate if I should check _wouldn't miss it for the world_ or _will be there in spirit._ I contemplate it all the way to the coffee shop, until my thoughts are interrupted by Mike, our resident Ed Sheeran wannabe who hangs out in front of the store and plays love ballads while making uncomfortable eye contact with anyone in the general vicinity.

"Bella," he yells and strums his guitar, "this one's for you."

"You weren't kidding, were you?" I hear someone say from behind me and when I turn, I'm shocked to see that it's none other than the six-foot-three, non-serial killer who's willing to lie to my friends. He smirks when I don't respond because I'm too busy staring at him all wide-eyed and open-mouthed, not believing that he's here and that he's just as handsome as he is in his pictures, no filter. "You really are a big deal."

"Um, yeah, uh," I stammer, then recover with a smile and shrug. "Told you."

We laugh and he stands from his table, extending his hand. "I'm Edward. You're Bella, right?"

"Right." I gently slip my hand into his. "It's nice to meet you."

A high pitched whine comes from below his table, and I notice a huge Bull Mastiff sitting there panting and tilting his head at me. "Who's this handsome fella?" I kneel down to pet him, and he nuzzles into my hand. "And why are you even on Tinder? This guy could get you more dates than a hot dad with a baby strapped to his chest."

Edward laughs. "I thought about putting him in my profile picture, but wouldn't that be cheating?"

"I suppose. What's his name?"

When I glance up, Edward's trying to hold back a smile. "I'd like the record to show that the Humane Society gave him this name, and I only kept it because it makes him sound distinguished."

"O-kay."

Motioning between us, he does the introductions. "Bella, this is Charles Lickens. Charles Lickens, this is Bella. She's kind of a big deal."

"Aww, Charles Lickens. That does sound distinguished."

"Yeah, we're just getting some coffee before we hit the dog park up the street." He jerks his head toward the shop. "You want to grab your drink and join us?"

"I don't know…" I hesitate. "You could lure me there and chop me into little bits Jeffrey Dahmer style."

Grinning, he shakes his head. "Didn't you read my tagline?" He points to himself. "Not a serial killer."

One grande non-fat latte with caramel macchiato drizzle and a croissant for Charles Lickens later, we're walking down Third Avenue doing the whole getting to know you thing. I find out he lives about eight blocks away from me and works from home as a Business Process Consultant, whatever that means. Apparently he travels a few times a month, but other than that he's cooped up in his house with his dog, watching unhealthy amounts of Netflix. I admit it; I swooned a little at that.

"What about you? You're a pharmaceutical rep, right?"

"I am, but I don't peddle the hard stuff."

"What? Like Cialis?"

I laugh. "No, like the pain killers and anti-depressants. I sell eye health products. It's all quite glamorous."

Charles goes wild once we reach the dog park, jumping and whining against the fence. A bunch of dogs flock to him, barking and yapping until Edward lets him loose so he can run and play and sniff butts with the others. Edward smiles sheepishly. "He's pretty popular with the ladies."

"I'll bet." I nearly pat myself on the back for not saying something ignorant like 'all the bitches love him,' though it'd be linguistically correct. "So how long have you been doing the Tinder thing?"

"About a week."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know. It's not ideal and it makes me feel like a douche bag making snap decisions based on pictures. I mean, it's a time-saver for sure, but it all seems kind of superficial." He turns to me, looking like he's waiting to be judged. "What about you, how are you feeling less than 24 hours in?"

"Well…" I draw out the word. "I woke up to four matches and two dick pics. Apart from your message, I was feeling a bit disenchanted with the entire process myself."

"So sending cock shots is frowned upon? That's good to know." He makes a check mark in the air. "Noted."

"What about you? How many trainwrecks have you been matched with this week?" I cover my mouth. "Ooh, wait. Is that bad form to ask about matches?"

"Nah, my numbers aren't that impressive. I've only had about twelve matches besides you this week. Four of them were nice, but we had zero chemistry."

"And the other eight?"

"The other eight had videos of themselves twerking on their Instagram. That's a deal breaker right there."

"Totally. I don't unveil that particular skill set until after the second date."

We continue like that for the next forty minutes, back and forth bullshitting and laughing until his phone chirps incessantly with a reminder.

"Damn," he mutters. "I've got a conference call I need to get back for."

With a loud whistle, he calls Charles over before standing and holding his hand out to help me up from the bench. "It was crazy and random, but really great to meet you," he says sincerely, giving my hand a small squeeze with his gaze fixed on mine.

"You too." I smile. "And good luck with your search for a twerkless Tinder match." I give him a quick wave. "So… I'll see you around."

"Yeah, definitely." I turn to walk away when he stops me. "Wait, uh." He fumbles with the leash and his coffee cup, and then reaches into his pocket. "I was thinking since you weren't doing the Tinder thing anymore, maybe I could get your number? We could hang out again or something."

"Sure!" I sound far too enthusiastic. "I mean, that'd be great."

We exchange phone numbers and awkward goodbyes before walking in opposite directions. On the way back to my apartment, I stop at the curbside mailbox, fill in the RSVP and drop it down the hatch.

 _Bella Swan plus one wouldn't miss it for the world._

* * *

The next afternoon, I'm sitting in a waiting room when my phone buzzes with incoming text alerts. I nearly fist pump when I see they're all from Edward. I scroll through the images he's sent of Dick Clark, Dick Van Dyke, and Dick Tracy. His final text has me cracking up. _Just a few Dick pics to brighten your day._

I type a text out, but think better of it, opting to call him instead.

"It's too soon for dick pics, isn't it?" he greets instead of saying _hello_.

"It made me laugh."

"Good deal."

"So listen, I had a pretty big lunch today, but I'm thinking I'll be starving around say six o'clock tonight. I know this great place with the best Sangria and a huge beer selection. And uh, they have food too, if you're into that or whatever. But I wanted to see if you wanted to maybe… hang out again or something?" I cringe at how _not_ smooth I sound, wishing I thought through my big lunch segue a bit more.

"That'd be great," he says. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Actually we can walk, it's fairly central to both of us, so… yeah."

"Great, it's a date."

* * *

"So they get three minutes to meet, chat, and make a decision if they want to see each other again before moving onto the next table?" Edward asks, watching the speed dating event the restaurant is hosting across the room.

"Pretty much," I say, not looking up from my menu.

"Have you ever done speed dating?"

I shake my head. "I don't have much of a game face. You pretty much know almost immediately what I'm thinking."

"Let's try it," he says, grabbing his phone. "I'll set a timer and we can do three minutes of rapid fire getting to know you." My brows pull together. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"All right, I'm game, but pour me a glass of Sangria before the interrogation."

He picks up the pitcher and fills my glass. "Interrogation is such an ugly word; I prefer to call it _wineboarding_." He winks and leans in, propping his weight on his forearms. "I'll start. Where are you from?"

"Spokane. You're from Chicago right?"

"Yep. Where did you go to school?"

"Gonzaga, you?"

"DePaul. _Game of Thrones_ fan?"

"Definitely."

"Do you only watch for Jon Snow?"

"He's so hot…"

"But he knows nothing." He smirks. "Why'd you make a Tinder profile?"

"Got invited to a sort of ex's wedding – figured I need a date. You?"

"I'm pretty shy and have zero game. Have you deleted your Tinder profile yet?"

"I did."

"Me too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I met this cool chick at Starbucks. She's kind of a big deal."

The rest of the evening goes just like that until we notice the restaurant closing around us and the waitress side-eyeing us hard.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he asks, holding the door for me.

"Nah, I ordered an Uber while you were paying the check. They should be here shortly." My stomach flutters when he steps near. "I had a great time."

"So did I," he breathes, leaning in and brushing his knuckles against my cheek just as a car screeches to a halt in front of the restaurant, blasting Justin Bieber.

"Please tell me that's _not_ my Uber car."

He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Your chariot awaits."

* * *

The next morning, I wake up to my phone buzzing with a text from Edward. _Dog park at 9:30? I'll bring coffee_.

I respond with a _yes_ , then do my damndest to make myself presentable after the all night girl talk I had with Rose, recounting every second of the date, including the part where I was cockblocked by a Belieber.

He's waiting at the bench with my obnoxious coffee order in hand, smiling as I approach. "How many times did your Uber driver play _Baby_?"

I grab my coffee. "Eww, how do you even know the Bieb's songs?"

Laughing, he pulls me close, cupping my cheek in his palm. "Hi," he whispers before leaning in and pressing his mouth to mine. He lingers there for a moment, smiling against my lips before pulling away. "I meant to do that last night."

* * *

"Could you guys stop being disgusting for like thirty seconds, please?" Rose smirks then bumps my hip with hers when she catches Edward and me making eyes at each other from across the bar. "Three weeks in and you're already _that_ couple."

"I think it's a little too soon to be using the C-word."

"Wait, what?" She arches a brow. "You haven't had the 'what are we' talk yet?"

"Nope." I take a drink so I don't have to elaborate. Sure, I'd love to know where we stand after a few weeks of nonstop togetherness – but I'm trying to play it cool. "We're just... taking it slow."

"Hi liar."

"Spending time together—"

"Mmm hmm. Every waking minute."

"Getting to know each other—"

"In the biblical sense."

"We haven't done that." My face heats at the thought as I watch Edward lean down on the pool table to take his shot. His eyes meet mine again and the corners of his lips turn up into this smile that makes me melt. "Yet."

* * *

We drop Rose and Emmett off first, and then head back to Edward's place under the pretense of letting the dog out. The door's barely closed before we're all over each other, kissing and groping and panting into each other's mouths. I push him down on the couch and stand, pulling my dress off.

"Yes," he says with a clap. "Finally some twerking action."

I laugh. "No twerking, but maybe a little action."

He pulls me down to straddle him, moving his hands over my body and kissing across my cleavage. I close my eyes, taking in every sensation. The feel of his fingertips as they slide down my stomach and slip beneath the lace between my legs. The slickness of his tongue as it swipes across my collarbone and the sting of his stubble when he whispers how much he wants me against my skin.

His fingers are magic and have me moaning out his name in no time flat. My body rocks against his, circling and grinding until he's groaning into my neck. I reach down and palm him over his jeans.

"Wait," he grits out with his eyes scrunched tight, stilling my hips with his hands. When he opens his eyes, they're wild, but pleading. "Bedroom," he says, jerking his head toward his room.

* * *

When I wake, he's hunched over his laptop with his phone at his ear. The sun's beating in through the blinds, and when I glance at the clock, I see that it's past eleven.

"I understand," he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "We'll get it figured out, let me just book a flight, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

Hanging up, he tosses his phone on the bed and notices I'm awake. "Hey."

I smile up at him. "Good morning. Or not so much?"

He scrubs his hands over his face. "I've gotta go to Phoenix."

"For how long?"

Shrugging, he shakes his head. "Until I get this problem taken care of. Hopefully just a few days, a week at the most."

I give him a pout and he kisses my nose. "Want me to grab some coffee for us?"

"You're the best."

"I know. I'll even take Charles with me so you can pack."

"Shit! I forgot. I need to board him."

"I can watch him for you," I offer, pulling my shirt over my head.

"I mean it." He grabs me around the waist and squeezes me tight. "You really are the best."

* * *

I drop him off at the airport that afternoon. We're late, so instead of dipping me and kissing me in the departure line, I get a quick peck and a good view of his ass as he runs into the terminal. The dog and I spend the next four days on my couch watching _Sex and the City_ and Snapchatting Edward until he sends me the text I've been waiting for.

 _I'm home._

Charles and I nearly sprint to his place. I'm barely through the door when pulls me into his chest and hugs me tightly. "I've missed you," he whispers into my hair before pressing a kiss to the top of my head, "so much."

"I've missed you too."

He fills me in about his trip to Phoenix, and I tell him how I'm three episodes ahead of him on _Orange is the New Black_ and Charles has a crush on Samantha.

"So remember that wedding I told you about?" He nods, twisting the cap on his beer bottle. "Well, it's next weekend."

"And?"

"Aaaaannd, I need a plus one."

He leans back against the counter, bottle dangling from his fingers. "You taking applications?"

"Yep. You've got thirty seconds to sell yourself – go."

"Too easy. I'm a blast at weddings." Placing his beer on the counter, he raises his hand to tick off his fingers. "Proficient in all the slides – Cha-Cha, Casper, and Electric. If we're in a dance off situation, I'm not afraid to bust out the robot, the cat daddy, the nae nae _and_ I can teach you how to Dougie." He widens his arms. "I'm a crowd pleaser, girl. Plus I look phenomenal in a suit."

I pretend to deliberate, tapping my finger to my chin. "I don't know… I didn't hear twerking anywhere in your pitch."

He cocks a brow.

"Fine, you're in. You can be my date."

Smirking, he holds up a finger. "One condition."

"What's that?"

He rounds the counter and wraps his arms around me from behind. "I'll be your plus one, if…" He pauses to trail a few soft kisses over my shoulder and up my neck, making me shiver when I feel his lips at my ear. "You bring me along as your _boyfriend._ "

I turn in his arms, cupping his cheeks with my hands and kiss him deeply. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I kiss him again. "There's just one thing, _boyfriend_."

"What's that?"

"Are you still willing to lie to my friends about how we met?"

* * *

 ***waves* Hi pals! It's been a while.**

 **This was my entry for the Meet the Mate contest. Huge thanks to the organizers of the contest, the judges and those who voted - we were so excited to place in both the public and judges' vote.**

 **Endless gratitude to Carrie ZM, Planetblue and Yum for all the time and work they put into this o/s. You girls have been so encouraging in getting me out of my writing funk and I can't thank you enough for your help and your friendship.**

 **One more chapter? I don't know, I wasn't planning on it. *Looks at Carrie ZM who has her thumb out, Gladiator style, wavering between up and down* What do you think, fandom? One more for shits and giggles?**

 **Hit me up and while you're at it - rec me a good fic WIP :)**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Big love to Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for pre-reading**  
 **and to my boo for real, Carrie ZM for beta'ing this bad bitch that took me**  
 **entirely too long to write.  
**

* * *

"Let's see." I narrow my eyes, perusing Ben and Angela's ten-page registry. "We have about three place settings of fine china, six pieces of crystal stemware, and a $600.00 espresso machine left to choose from."

"That's it?" Edward asks, grabbing a wooden pizza paddle off a shelf and swinging it like a baseball bat.

"You say it like _that's_ normal."

"It's their registry." He shrugs. "They probably figured they should just go for it."

"Well, they went for it all right."

"You wouldn't register for all that stuff if you were getting married?" he challenges, spinning the handle of the paddle in his hand and pointing it at me.

"Of course I would. The difference is that I'm a girl with impeccable taste and delusions of grandeur. I don't know anything about the bride, but when I hung out with Ben, he drank Pabst Blue Ribbon from a can and ate burritos from the gas station on the daily."

"Classy."

"Exactly, and no amount of Waterford goblets or Wedgwood china will ever be able to church up that combo."

"True."

"Okay, which one of these screams masculinity to you? A deluxe turkey deep fryer or a panini press?"

"The panini press, obviously," he jokes before swatting me on the bottom with the paddle.

My hand flies over my mouth to muffle the squeal before we catch the attention of nearby shoppers. We duck into the next aisle, him laughing and me whacking him with the registry.

"Paninis are manly." I get a hold of his tie and tug it, pulling him down for a quick kiss. "They're kinda like the cousin to the Hot Pocket."

Smiling, he shakes his head and wraps his arms around me. "Let's go with the deep fryer. It's definitely the manlier of the two, plus it has that whole element of danger thing."

"Totally. Nothing says 'best wishes' like a gift that can potentially give you third degree burns and a homeowner's insurance claim."

* * *

Bobbing his head, he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, mouthing the words to the song on the radio. He's a ten and two kinda guy with his eyes on the road, checking the mirrors every few seconds whereas I'm the freak on the freeway putting on mascara and checking my pores, all the while singing horribly at the top of my lungs. I've yet to bust out that particular talent, no need to overwhelm him only a month into the relationship.

His lips twist up into a smile when he turns to look at me. "What?"

"Nothing," I say too quickly, straightening in my seat and smoothing down my dress so my Spanx don't show.

"So what's our story tonight?" He turns down the radio and his eyes move back to the road. "Did we ever decide how we're going to tell people we met?"

"I thought we were going with the Starbucks thing?"

"Lame."

"What do you mean lame? It's _technically_ true."

"I mean let's have fun with it and tell them we met at a crime scene or we shared an awkward Uber ride."

I snort. "Why don't we just tell them we hooked up after a funeral?"

"Now you're talking."

I laugh and look out the window. "You tell 'em whatever you want, but I'm going to tell them that you and your dog were creeping on me while I sipped my latte."

"Sounds about right."

My stomach growls as we pass several fast food restaurants. "Aren't we going to stop to eat?"

"I don't think we have time. Ceremony starts in about thirty minutes, plus I was hoping we could check in first."

"C'mon, man."

"You starving or something?" he asks and nods towards the glove compartment. "I think I've got a Nutri-Grain bar in there."

"A Nutri-Grain bar? What are you, eighty?"

Grinning, he pulls onto the highway and I nearly weep as the Taco Bell sign gets smaller and smaller in the side-view mirror. "The cocktail hour immediately follows the ceremony so it shouldn't be too long until dinner."

"True," I say with a sigh. "But what if it's one of those appetizers-only deals? Like for real, if they serve me a half of a bagel bite and a quarter of a crab cake, I will straight up order Dominos to their reception."

"Get outta here. You don't really think it'll be hors d'oeuvres-only, do you?"

"Could be." I shrug. "You might want to bring your Nutri-Grain bar just in case."

* * *

"Bride or groom's side?" a smug-faced, lanky kid who can't be a minute older than fifteen asks with a wink and offers his arm.

"Groom's side, please."

"Figured as much." He leads me through the French doors into the hotel's courtyard. "I'm Seth. What's your name, gorgeous?"

"Bella." I smile and sneak a glance back at Edward who's sauntering though the doors after checking us in and dropping our bags off at the room.

"Be-lla," Seth repeats slowly, swaying to the sound of my name and holding his hand out to a row of empty seats. "I like it."

"Thanks, Seth."

"Yeah, thanks, Seth." Edward pats him on the back and slips in beside me.

Seth's swagger falters for a second, watching Edward's arm move over the top of my shoulders, but he recovers quickly, flashing a grin. "Save me a dance, kitten."

Edward waits until Seth is out of earshot. "Koo-koo-ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson."

"What can I say? I have a kind face."

The string quartet raises their bows just as Ben and his long-time best friend, Tyler, take their places at the altar. The opening chords to _Canon in D_ float over the air and every head in the room turns to see the processional as Seth proudly escorts the mothers down the aisle. They're followed closely by an uncomfortable-looking bridesmaid stuffed in a strapless plum dress and matching elbow length gloves.

The guests laugh as a cute little blond boy struts in with a gray suit that matches Ben's and a chalkboard sign with the words ' _Last Chance to Run'_ scrawled across it. He's eating up the attention while the flower girl throws herself to the ground, refusing to move an inch, let alone throw petals at the bride's feet. An older man scoops up the now wailing toddler and whisks her away just as the final notes of the song fade and the French doors creak closed.

I peek up at Ben just before the officiant calls for everyone to rise. He still looks like the same baby-faced, bespectacled guy I used to drink shitty beer with in college, but different somehow as he stands up there adjusting his tie and smiling brightly. Happiness looks good on him.

The doors open, and the bride appears, beaming in a crystal-covered corset top and ginormous ball gown. She looks like she has a four inch waist above the mounds and mounds of tulle that nearly take up the width of the aisle. Locking eyes with Ben, she steps forward just as the quartet strikes up _The Wedding March_.

A text from Rose comes in while I'm snapping a picture. _Has it started yet? Did she ride down on a unicorn?_

Once Angela passes, I quickly text Rose back. _No unicorn - you owe me dinner._

Rose fires back as the congregation is seated _. Damn. I was sure she'd stick with the fairy tale theme. Double or nothing they go for the viral first dance shenanigans._

I smile. _You're on._

 _Does Ben look like he's ready to bolt?_

I glance up from my phone to see Ben take Angela's hands in his and stare longingly into her eyes which happen to be about seven or so inches above his head. The petty in me wants to type that he looks like the Imp when he married Sansa Stark, but since I'm trying to get right with the Lord, I text her the truth.

 _He's never looked happier.  
_

* * *

Twenty minutes, a butchered _Ave Maria_ , and two sets of sappy-ass vows later, Mr. and Mrs. Cheney are officially man and wife and I'm ready to eat, drink, and be merry. Following the recessional, we inch our way to the doors to congratulate the newlyweds. Thankfully Edward's in front of me so I can figure out the best way to greet Ben. Do I give him a businesslike handshake with a hearty congrats? Or do I go in for an ass-out-let's-pretend-we-didn't-hook-up-hug?

Ben spots me first, seeming genuinely glad to see me. "Bella!"

Angela's head snaps in my direction and she watches Ben totally go in for the no-nethers-touching-hug. Her toothy grin never falters and the warm way she shakes my hand with both of hers makes me wonder if she knows how familiar I am with her better half's lower half.

"You look _so_ beautiful." I motion towards the four-foot wide bedazzled tulle surrounding her. "This dress is just …" I trail off, searching for the right word and coming up blank.

"It's stunning," Edward chimes in, saving me from my awkwardness.

"Yes." I nod. "Truly stunning."

Angela blushes then quickly looks down. "Well, thanks."

We congratulate them again before heading toward the open area in front of the ballroom where the guests are lining up at the makeshift bar.

Edward takes my hand and slowly spins me into his side.

"Smooth."

"OH. MY. GOD!" A high-pitch squeal sounds through the room and I recognize the voice immediately. "BELLA!"

Before I turn in the direction of said voice, I give Edward a small smirk because he's in for a real treat tonight. "HEIDI!" I yell with equal enthusiasm, widening my arms to hug her.

"It's been like for-ever!"

Heidi Crowley. My former college roommate and unapologetic party girl turned wife and mother. Although many a questionable decision was made with her at my side, she's one of my favorite people ever because she doesn't mince words, she gives no rips, and she possesses a level of petty that I _still_ aspire to daily.

In a word – my _shero_.

"Heidi, this is my boyfriend, Edward. Edward, this is Heidi."

Smiling politely, he shakes her hand then turns to me. "I'm going to grab us some drinks, would you like anything?"

"Vodka tonic."

"Heidi?"

"Same, please." Edward nods and excuses himself as Heidi continues. "I told Tyler this morning that if this reception wasn't open bar, I'd subtract a zero from their wedding check and bring a boot flask."

Tipping my head back, I laugh. "Girl, I've missed you."

"Ditto."

"Sorry I couldn't make it to your baby shower."

"Oh honey, please. I didn't want to be there either."

"Yeah, right."

"Well really though, I was miserable sitting there for three hours with my swollen ankles ooh-ing and ahh-ing over butt-paste and hemorrhoid pads."

"Eww."

"Motherhood is no joke, doll."

"You love it, though."

"I do and I love my little guy, but sometimes I just need a break from mommy mode."

"I'll bet."

"Even when I get together with my mom friends, all they want to talk about is their kids."

"That's kind of normal, isn't it?"

"I guess, but when I'm out of the house and kid-free for a few hours, I want to have grown up talk over a bottle of wine, not spend my dinner listening to them calculating the trajectory of their kid's last explosive bowel movement."

"Gross."

"Right? Like why can't we talk about _normal_ things like what everyone is reading or which HGTV Property Brother they'd prefer to bang?"

" _Totally_ normal."

I see Edward's eyes widen as he approaches with the drinks in hand. He pauses for a moment, looking at me like he might try to do an about-face and make a run for it. "Uh, here're your drinks, ladies."

"Thanks," Heidi says before taking a small sip. "So, what about you two? How long have you guys been an item?"

"A little over a month," Edward answers, slipping his free hand into mine.

"Aww, those first few months are the best. How'd you guys meet?"

"A crime scene," Edward blurts faster than I can reply with, "Starbucks."

"There was a crime scene near the Starbucks where we met," I clarify, giving him a look. "Edward just likes to make it weird."

"Uh huh." Heidi stirs the ice in her glass. "Okay honey, but you two should probably get your story straight or people will think you met on Tinder like the happy couple over there."

I down my drink, refusing to confirm or deny or even make eye contact.

Her voice lowers. "Word on the street is that the blushing bride is too pure to be pink."

My eyes widen. "Really?"

Edward looks confused. "Too pure to be pink?"

"She's a Sandra Dee, sweet pea," Heidi answers, though his confusion is still evident. "An honest to goodness virgin."

She must be joking. "No way!"

"Crazy, right? Most people leave Tinder with a scorching case of Chlamydia and a collection of unsolicited dick pics, but ol' Benny boy found himself a sweet girl with an intact hymen."

"Wow."

"Why else do you think they rushed down the aisle?"

"I just figured she was pregnant or something."

"Well that isn't too far off, I'm sure. She was already asking me about childbearing."

"Did you scar her for life?"

"You know I like to keep it real."

"Okay, but when it's my turn, I'm gonna need you to lie to me. Like alternative facts, all day long."

"Aww, sweetie." She rubs my shoulder. "You know I can't do that. Who else is going to warn you that your tits might come out of motherhood looking like candidates for an episode of _Botched_?"

Edward laughs mid-drink and chokes on his beer. I pat his back through his coughing fit while Heidi continues to keep it a little _too_ real.

"I don't even recognize my nipples anymore. They aren't the pert, adorable little sprites I occasionally whipped out at parties back in the day. No sir." She waves her finger back and forth. "Now they look like two table grapes jutting out of a couple pieces of salami."

"Not this again," Tyler teases, sauntering up to his wife. She playfully smacks him and leans into his embrace. "How've you been, Bella?"

"Great." I pat Edward on his back one more time as his coughing subsides. "Ty, this is Edward."

"Good to meet you, man," Tyler says with a nod before turning to his wife and handing her his phone. "Mom called with a question about little man, she wants you to call her back."

They quickly excuse themselves after that, leaving Edward and I alone once again. "Okay. Wow."

"I know, right? She's a trip."

"Friend from college?"

"And former roommate."

"I can't even imagine."

"She's a good time."

"Her _and_ her nipples apparently."

"They were crowd-pleasers."

"What've we got here?" Edward asks as we step over to the table with the seating cards and guest book.

He picks up the instructions beside a large glass canister and reads them aloud. " _Tip jar. Please leave the happy couple your best wishes and tips for their happily ever after_."

I grab a pen. "What should we say?"

"What do you mean _we_?" He swipes the pen out of my hand. "I'm about to impart some of my own wisdom on them. You're on your own, Swan."

"I see how it is." I pluck another pen from the table. "Fine, let's do this."

For the next few minutes we lean over opposite ends of the table, him imparting wisdom and me, low-key googling marriage advice. I scribble the first thing I agree with, and then heckle my boyfriend. "Ya' done yet, Dear Abby?"

He drops the pen. "I am."

"Let's hear it."

"I don't think you're ready for this jelly." He quickly shoves the paper in the jar, making sure to bury it beneath all the others.

"I can handle it."

"Doubt it."

"Did you write them a sonnet?"

"No."

"Quote Shakespeare?"

"Unh-uh."

"A marriage Haiku?"

"Nope."

"Song lyrics?"

"None of the above."

"Good, because it'd make me wonder if _you_ had an intact hymen."

He laughs then slips his arms around my waist. "Let me hear yours."

I show him my paper. "Happy wife, happy life."

"That's my dad's motto."

"Smart man." I jerk my chin at the jar. "What'd you really write, Nicholas Sparks?"

"You got me. I quoted _The Notebook_."

"Really?"

"No."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me."

Offering no promises, he presses a quick kiss to my forehead and whispers, "We'll see."

* * *

"This is brutal," I mutter, watching yet _another_ person stand to propose a long-winded toast to the newlyweds. Nudging my leg with his, Edward cocks an eyebrow. Thankfully we're seated at an empty table now with the DJ and photographers gone. "I mean, c'mon, isn't five enough? How many more shitty speeches do we have to listen to before they open the bar back up?"

"I'm not sure." He gestures towards a gentleman cleaning up a spill by the buffet table. "But I think the janitor might like to say a few words."

"Probably."

Laughing, he leans in and kisses my temple then drapes his arm over the top of my chair. "Can't wait to dance with me, huh?"

"Actually, I can't wait for the donuts to be served."

"You're not a cake person?"

"I am if it's donut-shaped."

"Good to know."

"Taking notes?"

Sitting back in his seat with his beer in hand and tie loosened, he winks. "Always."

A few minutes later we watch Ben and Angela make their way to the dance floor. "Yes!" I nearly fist pump. "First dance means bar's back open."

"Unless it's an eight minute power ballad."

"Ugh."

"Bet you a drink they go with _Thinking Out Loud_."

"Ed Sheeran?"

"Lovers dig that ginger swagger."

"Mmm, no. Ben doesn't strike me as the type to be swayed by swagger. Ginger or otherwise."

I put my hand out and we shake on it. "You're on, Cullen."

Not even three minutes later, sure as shit, the lights dim and everyone claps when Ben spins Angela onto the dance floor. He pulls her close, looking up into her smiling eyes and mouthing a certain swoony ginger's lyrics of love.

Edward grins. "Well would you look at that? Just like I predicted."

"Easy there, Nostradamus. I'm pretty sure _Thinking Out Loud_ is the song for every couple who started dating in the past two years."

"Do _we_ have a song?"

"I don't think we do."

He holds my gaze and gives me that lopsided smile that absolutely makes my stomach flip every single time. "We'll have to rectify that then."

* * *

Two drinks, a father-daughter and a mother-son dance later, we're watching the old timers strut their stuff to the oldies and Edward's feet are shuffling under the table.

"Eager to get out there."

"Nah. I'm sizing up the competition."

I look back to the fifty shades of gray-hairs on the dance floor doing the jitterbug. "Competition?"

"Yep." He points to a bald, portly gentleman wearing a tie older than my father. "That guy's gonna give me a run for my money."

"Who? Don Rickles over there?"

"Yep."

"He looks like he's recovering from a double hip replacement."

"I know, which means he'll bring his 'A' game." I stare at him a moment, puzzled. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just amused by how excited you are at the prospect of dashing his hopes of dance floor glory."

"Just trying to see what he's working with."

"What, in the event of a Sharks and the Jets style dance battle?"

"If it comes to that, yes."

"Well then you may want to hop to it because the senior set usually packs it up by nine."

I stand and push in my chair. "I'm heading to the restroom."

"Text Rose to check on Charles Lickens for me."

"Sure thing."

Thankfully the restroom has a lounge area. I'm not a fan of toilet texting, but I am a fan of winning bets with Rose. I grin as I type. _You're 0 for 2, lady. No unicorn or first dance shenanigans. How's Charles Lickens?_

She responds back immediately with a picture of Emmett and Charles Lickens both wearing sunglasses in his car and Em holding up a bunch of twenties.

"What even?" I ask no one in particular as I text her back. _Are they going to Vegas?_

Her response is instant _. I don't think so. Em said they were going out to "get bitches, get money."_

"Hmm." _Dog park and the ATM, perhaps?_

 _LOL - probably. How's the wedding?_

 _So far it's pretty fun. Heidi's here._

 _Uh-oh. I'll text Em to get you guys bail money._

The bathroom door bursts open and the bride ambles in with her maid of honor in tow. She gives me a wave then hightails it to the stalls, giggling about how she's going to wet herself.

Her bridesmaid stands in front of the mirror, primping and pulling her dress up under her armpits.

"So do you think it's going okay?" Angela asks from her stall.

"Well yeah, it's like the funnest wedding ever!" her bridesmaid answers pushing together her cleavage. The first few notes of _Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy_ come on and she throws her hands in the air and dashes to the door, screeching the words 'this is my jam' as she goes.

"Lauren?" Angela calls out. "I need help."

I eye the door and consider making a mad dash myself, but then Angela calls out again.

"Lauren?"

"Um." I walk back to the stalls, trying my hardest not to cringe at the thought of what I'm about to do. "She left. Do you need help?"

The door swings open. "Would you mind?"

 _Yes_. "Not at all."

I squeeze in with her and gather her dress enough to get her underwear down her legs. My eyes then move to the ceiling, trying to give her as much privacy as one can have with a perfect stranger helping you take a piss.

"Oh great, now I have stage fright," she says with an uncomfortable chuckle after several seconds of silence.

"It'll come."

"So…" she starts, insisting on making this moment more awkward with conversation. "Are you guys having fun?"

"We are."

"Oh good!"

Thankfully, her obvious relief from hearing we're enjoying ourselves allows her to relax enough to relieve herself. But it's a slow trickle. Painfully slow. Chinese water torture slow.

"Ben's really glad you came."

I think I'd prefer the drip, drip, drip over talking about Ben. "Well it's great to see him so happy. He's such a good guy."

"He is," she sighs all dreamily.

We go back and forth, talking about their honeymoon plans until the drip becomes a dribble then stops all together. "Done."

 _Finally_. "Awesome."

She pauses with an odd expression on her face. "Wiping might be tricky."

 _Dear God, make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far, far away._ "I'm sure you can manage."

Seven minutes later, she's wiped, our hands are washed and I'm scarred for life with the memories of my tulle-covered face too close to her nethers for my liking. We make our way back to the ballroom and spot Ben, Edward, Tyler and Heidi all standing at the bar, tossing back their drinks. She grabs my hand and nearly drags me over. "Come on, let's do some shots."

"There she is!" Ben shouts and pulls her down for a sloppy kiss.

Edward hands me a shot and speaks into my ear. "Do I even want to know?"

Kissing his cheek, I whisper, "Let's just say I got closer to third base with her than the groom has."

I give him a wink and throw back my shot.

His face is priceless.

* * *

The next couple of hours fly by quickly. Between the shots, catching up with friends, and my boyfriend's dance floor antics; this is by far the most fun I've ever had at a wedding.

"He's a keeper!" Heidi yells over the music while we watch Edward square off against Ben's grandfather, AKA Don Rickles in a heated dance battle to Salt N Pepa's _Push It_. Edward's keeping it classy alternating his cabbage patch with a few well-timed pelvic thrusts, whereas Ben's grandpa is getting the crowd going with some questionable Magic Mike style body rolls and occasional nipple rubs.

The song changes and Edward concedes defeat, letting his dance floor nemesis have his moment to shine. While the guests cheer for the old timer, Edward grabs my hand and leads me to the photo booth.

"You totally went easy on him," I accuse as he wraps a hot pink feathered boa around my neck.

Shrugging, he pecks my lips and slides a top hat on his head. "Maybe."

"Although those mid-air spanks were impressive."

"Definitely a crowd-pleaser," he agrees, pulling me into the booth and closing the curtain behind me. With a wag of his brows, he slips his arm around my waist and a hand on the back of my neck. "Alone at last."

"He says like the serial killer he claimed he wasn't on his Tinder profile."

He silences my snark with a toe-curling kiss that goes on and on until we hear a throat clear and the photo booth attendant knocks on the wall.

"I promised my mother a picture of us, so let's keep this PG, Swan."

* * *

"Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on," Edward sings into his beer bottle and points at me to join him on the dance floor.

"Why do you know the words?"

"You got the healing that I want."

"It's weird."

"Just like they say in the song. Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on." Laughing, he spins me then pulls me close. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I think we have our song."

"No."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's Charlie Puth."

"Charlie Puth is for lovers."

"Speaking of lovers." I tilt my head towards the newlyweds who are full on grinding and making out to the song. "What advice did you give happy couple?"

A sheepish grin spreads over his face. "It's lame."

My finger traces his jaw. "Tell me."

Leaning down, he presses his forehead to mine and looks me right in the eyes. "Tell her you love her all the time. And when you aren't telling her, show her."

I blink.

I melt.

I crush my lips to his and drag him off the dance floor.

Charlie Puth may be for lovers after all.

* * *

A rushed goodbye to the bride and groom, a hot and heavy make out session in the elevator, and a few fumbled key card entry attempts later, Edward has me pressed against our hotel room door. Our mouths move together as we kick off our shoes and he tosses his jacket to the floor. I've damn near got his shirt unbuttoned when he spins me around. My cheek rests against the cold aluminum while he drops soft, open-mouthed kisses on my shoulder and lowers my zipper down my back. Gathering the straps of my dress, he pulls them down my arms, but pauses when it hits my waist.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice sounding breathless. "Is it stuck?"

My dress hits the floor as he turns me around and I see he's wearing the most playful smirk on his face. "Is that a wrestling singlet?"

"What? No." I look down at my Spanx mid-thigh bodysuit. "SHIT!" I yell, covering myself because I'd rather be bare-ass-naked than seen in this nude get-up.

"It _is_ a singlet, isn't it?" The amusement in his voice is equal parts adorable and mortifying.

"It's shapewear! Don't look at me!" I try to duck around him to get to the bathroom. "Give me a minute to change, I've got a—"

"Nope!" He grabs me around the waist and hoists me over his shoulder. "We're wreslin' tonight!" Tickling my sides, he's got me laughing so hard I can barely breathe, let alone protest as he carries me through the hotel room. "Are you ready?" he asks, pulling me down into a bear hug.

"For what?"

"SUUU-PLEX!"

We fall to the bed, landing on the mattress with a soft thump. His fingers resume tickling my sides and his lips move back to my neck. It feels _so_ good, I almost forget I'm rocking Spanx on a gross hotel comforter.

 _Almost_.

"Comforter." I push him up while frantically pulling the blanket off the bed.

"What?"

"Eww, get it off the bed!"

With the offending bedding on the floor, I'm able to relax somewhat. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him strip down.

"Bet you didn't know you're dating a two-time all state high school wrestling champ," he brags as he unbuckles his belt.

"I had no idea."

"It's not easy to work that one into a Tinder profile."

"Sure it is. You could've said 'not a serial killer, but looks killer in a singlet.'"

His pants hit the ground and he pulls off his shirt. "Damn, you're good."

"I know." I raise an eyebrow. "Wanna pin me?"

"I do, but first let's get your singlet off."

"It's Spanx."

He cups his ear. "You want to get spanked?"

"No, pinned."

Climbing onto the bed, he hovers over me and slips his fingers beneath the straps of my shapewear.

I suck in a deep breath to which he cocks his eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

I exhale. "Sucking in."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to burst out of my Spanx like a busted can of biscuits."

Muttering a quiet 'you're crazy' under his breath, he drags the spandex down my body and tosses it on the nightstand. I slink further back on the bed, watching him slide his boxers down his legs before straightening up and baring every impressive, straining inch of him to me.

"Let's see your moves, champ."

"I don't know." The bed dips as he nudges my ankles apart with his knee and his fingertips ghost their way up my legs. "Putting my girlfriend in a figure-four leg lock might kill the romance."

"Sounds a little kinky." I flop back on the pillows. "I don't know if I'm coordinated enough for kinky tonight."

"Me neither."

My voice drops. "So how do you want me?"

Kneeling between my legs, he hums as his eyes move over my body. "Just like this." His hands skim higher up my thighs and he pushes them apart. "Spread."

My teeth sink into my lip, biting back a moan.

"Wet," he whispers hotly, inching his finger inside of me.

"Oh God." My eyes fall closed as his finger slides and circles. I feel his weight shift and his warm breath fan across my chest.

"I want you," his tongue peeks out, barely swiping my nipple, "turned on."

"Mmm."

He sucks it into his mouth. "Begging."

"Please."

"Not yet." His tongue flicks and flattens and teases until my nails are digging into his scalp and I'm arching into his touch.

He doesn't let up. Not even for a second. Hard and fast, he works me up until I'm trembling and sweating and pleading. "Edward, _please_."

He kisses his way up to my neck. "Almost there."

"Please."

"Bella," he groans and I feel it rumble across my skin. When I open my eyes, his gaze is fixed on mine. Tentatively he takes my hands in his, sliding them up the sheets until they're high above my head, pressing me tightly to the mattress. "I want you—"

"Yes."

"Like this," he pants, lining up his hard to my heat.

My hips hitch and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling the tip of his cock inside of me. The sound of his groan fills the room and his hold tightens at the movement.

He meets my eyes. "Yeah?"

With a nod, I pull him deeper.

"Hell yes," he drags out the words, long and low as he inches inside of me.

Burying his face in the crook of my neck, he rocks into me over and over again, slow and steady and so, so deep. My hips roll, meeting his thrusts as I lick and kiss my way up his jaw until my lips are at his ear, murmuring drunken, naughty words of encouragement.

"Christ," he hisses into my hair while his hands snake down my arms to cup my breasts. "Don't stop." His thumb brushes my nipple. "Tell me what you want."

Sucking his earlobe into my mouth and nipping it with my teeth, my hands slip down his back. "I want…"

His fingers tug and his hips swivel.

I gasp. " _That_."

"You'll have to be more specific."

Tangling my hands in his hair, my lips get very specific against this jaw, "I want to watch you lose it."

His pace picks up at my words.

"Out of your mind."

He grunts.

" _Out of control_."

"Bella."

"I want your hands on me."

His thumbs circle as he gropes. "Here?"

I moan. " _Yes_."

His hand slips down to where we're joined.

"Mmm." I run my teeth over my bottom lip. " _God_ , yes."

"More."

"I want your mouth on every inch of my skin—"

"Ugh."

"Licking and sucking."

Pressing down hard on my clit, he rubs it slowly.

"Whispering dirty words."

" _Fuck_ ," he grits out, punctuating it with a sharp thrust.

"Dirtier than that."

"Bella." My name sounds like a warning and a plea as his hips move faster and his hands slide around to grip my waist. "I can't…"

"Don't stop," I breathe, curling my fingers around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

"I'm going to lose it," he groans against my lips, squeezing his eyes shut as he buries himself inside of me over and over again.

"Mmm." I lift my hips to meet his, needing him deeper.

"I want you to lose it too." He pins my arms back up against the mattress and covers my mouth with his, kissing me hard and fucking me harder.

I close my eyes, losing myself in the best way with each slide of his skin on mine, each thrust, each moan, and every colorful expletive he grunts into my neck when he comes undone above me.

* * *

"That was…" he trails off, panting beside me on the bed.

" _So_ good." I raise my fist for him to bump. "I like your moves."

"Are you giving me a fist bump for my performance?"

"I'm a big believer in positive reinforcement."

Rolling on his side, he gives me a bump and props his head up on his elbow. "Okay, so weird question."

"Weirder than you knowing the words to a Charlie Puth song?"

"Maybe."

"Shoot."

"Did you have fun?"

"With you tonight?"

"Yes."

"Of course. I did."

"So you'd do it again?"

"Another wedding or Marvin Gaye'ing?"

"Both, but specifically another wedding."

"Well, _yeah_."

"Yeah?" he asks like he thought I'd turn him down. "Cool."

"Who's wedding?"

"Technically it's a vow renewal."

"Okay."

"For my parents."

My eyes widen at his words. "Your parents?"

"It's not for a couple months, so don't feel like you have to answer right—"

"No."

"No?"

"No, I mean, _no_ I don't want to wait to answer."

"Okay, so…"

"So yeah, definitely. I'd love to go."

"Awesome! They can't wait to meet you."

"Your parents?"

"My whole family."

"Your _whole_ family?"

"Yeah, my mom, dad, my sister and brother-in-law, their kids, my grandparents."

"Sounds like a lot of people. Will they all be at the vow renewal?"

He nods. "Them and about 50 of my parent's closest friends."

"That's a lot of people, Cullen."

"It is."

"We're gonna need to get our story straight on how we met."

"Probably a good idea."

"This is kind of huge, you know. Meeting your parents _and_ eleventy-billion of their nearest and dearest."

"It is." He reaches across the bed and takes my hand. "And it should be - especially for me."

"Why's that?"

"Because," he grins, "you're kind of a big deal."

* * *

 **A/N: Vegas, baby, Vegas! Who wants to come party with us? Carrie ZM, Planetblue and me at the Twific Meet-up in Vegas July 27th - 30th. Fanfiction is funny button about links in author notes, so check out the blog at (three w's) dot twilight fanfic meetup dot com.**

 ***Carrie ZM sings* You can find us in the club, bottle full of bub.**

 **Not me though, I'll be at the nickel slots making it rain when I'm not fangirling over other writers.**

 **Fic Rec - Beautiful World by Wonwordful - good stuff, pals! Check it out!**

 **Thanks for reading! LAHM out!**


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